


I Did It For You!

by ChaoticNeurosis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe, Anger, Dark, Dark Theme, Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Help, Helping, Hopeless Dean Winchester, Loss, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Reader-Insert, Sad, Sad Ending, Sam's dead, Self-Destruction, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticNeurosis/pseuds/ChaoticNeurosis
Summary: Sam Winchester is dead. Dead. There's no bringing him back from the grips of death. Not this time, and Dean doesn't know what to do. He can't function. He's angry with himself, the universe, and everything else that happens to remind him of Sam or of the guilt he carries around every day. Because, naturally, Dean blames himself for the inability to save his brother this time.She knows he has to process, to find some sense of purpose in Sam's absence. She does everything she can to help Dean...But when it's all said and done, will Dean acknowledge all her efforts? And will Dean be able to live with himself?
Relationships: Castiel/Reader, Dean Winchester/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE:  
> If you came here hoping for a happy ending, turn back now. There is no happy ending, and there's barely a light at the end of the tunnel.  
> You've been warned.

Dean sat in the library, his head in his hands, an empty whiskey decanter next to a full tumbler. He hadn’t moved from that chair in a week. He didn’t eat. I had no idea if he slept. I was too afraid to ask, to even remind him of my presence. It hadn’t been easy for either of us, though I knew Dean had the best reason to withdraw into himself. He had lost his baby brother, and this time? There was no bringing Sam back. His body had completely vaporized into thin air. There was nothing left to bring back. 

_ I have to get him to eat _ , I thought.  _ He has to eat. He’s going to drink himself to death. _

I maneuvered around broken chairs and shattered lamps as I quietly walked to the kitchen. When Dean had returned to the bunker alone, he went postal, throwing anything he could get his hands on. He was angry - with himself, with the universe. I knew he felt as if he had failed his brother. It was obvious in the way his shoulders slumped, in the way he hadn’t spoken a word since his return. If his eyes were at a level to see them, I would most likely see an overwhelming air of defeat. Dean felt as if his purpose had been uprooted. He had protected Sammy his entire life, and he had failed just once. But once was all it took. 

The kitchen was low on supplies, and I sighed in frustration as I realized I’d have to make a food run if I hoped to make Dean put anything besides whiskey in his stomach. I cautiously walked back to my room to grab my truck keys so I could hit the grocery story. Usually beer would be on the list, but considering the amount of alcohol consumed as of late, I decided to forgo that item. The man needed almost anything else. 

Upon reentering the bunker, I noticed the distinct absence of Dean from the library, but the whiskey glass was also gone. Wherever he was, he was still drinking. I put away the groceries and began cooking something that might entice Dean’s stomach to let him know he needed to eat. 

With a silent prayer of gratitude, I gave a small, half-hearted smile as Dean walked into the kitchen. I hoped it was the smell of burgers frying that drew him in. 

I took in the hunter as he essentially flopped onto the stool at the kitchen table. His hair was a mess, overgrown, and greasy. How long had it been since he’d showered? His eyes housed dark circles and his facial hair had been completely neglected. He looked up at me as I flipped one of the burgers. 

“Hey,” he spoke, his voice more gravelly than was normal for him. 

“Hi,” I replied, keeping my tone soft and light. “Hungry?” 

Dean scratched over the scruff on his face and gave a small nod. Damn, he looked so tired. Exhausted from grief, constant drinking, and severe lack of sleep. 

I set a plate of the food in front of him along with a glass of water in hopes he would take it instead of any more whiskey. When he did drink from the water, I internally sighed in relief. 

_ Good _ , I thought.  _ Small improvement. This is good. _

Dean took a bite of the hamburger and set it back down. It was almost as if he knew he needed to eat but he just couldn’t make himself do it. I sat across from him and silently pleaded. 

He let out a long exhale and picked the burger up again. “I know,” he said.

_ I know I need to eat  _ was what he meant. 

Dean managed to finish the small first meal and walked away in silence. As I cleaned up, I hoped this was the beginning to the long marathon of getting Dean back on his feet. He couldn’t live like this for long. He would kill himself in mourning his brother. 

Dean hadn’t gone back to the library, so I roamed the labyrinth of the bunker to find him. He was nowhere to be found. His room was a last hope, but as I eased the door open, I hung my head and felt a tension ease from my shoulders. 

He was sleeping. 

I silently closed the door and walked to the library. It was time to take advantage of the unconscious hunter so I could clean up the mess he had made. I had never been scared of Sam or Dean, but when the elder of the brothers began yelling, screaming, and breaking everything in sight, I was terrified. But not for myself. I was scared that Dean was going to hurt himself, that he might end up slicing his hands open on broken glass or take the 1911 that was tucked in the waistband of his jeans and put a bullet in his head. 

As I swept up the glass shards that littered the library, I imagined what Sam would think about his brother’s reaction. Sam would most likely say his brother was overreacting, that Dean needed to take a breather and calm down. That there was nothing he could have done to change the outcome. Yes, Sammy would say all of this. He would throw sense in his brother’s direction only for it to bounce right back. 

I hadn’t realized the few tears that jumped the levee of my eyes as I continued to clean up the mess. Sam’s absence was loud. Obvious. A monument that only made the hole much larger. It was going to be a long road. A damn long road. No one was prepared for such a loss. How could anyone ever prepare for something so unexpected? Dean would argue that we should have seen it coming, that it’s part of being a hunter, but this was about his own brother. Dean’s lessons were null and void when it came to his own life or the lives of those he considered family. 

When the library was mostly put back in order, I went searching for lamps to replace those that had been broken. I had sat around for close to two weeks, and I needed something to do, to distract myself from my own emotional pain.

I stared at the library tables after finding enough lamps. I could still see Sammy sitting there, his laptop open, papers strewn all over the place, his feet up on the dark tabletop. I could see his kind and welcoming smile, inviting me to sit with him and research or just chat. Those hazel eyes would light up with every breakthrough. He would throw his head back and laugh whenever we talked about the dumbassery that ensued while driving to cases. He would snicker as Dean tried to explain jokes to Castiel. He would give advice or a pep talk any time one of felt down or distraught about whatever apocalypse we lived in. Sam was a rock, a cornerstone...and he was gone. 

_Damn it, Sam,_ I thought as I wiped away rebellious salty tears. They stung as they rolled down my cheeks, and I quickly got myself back in order to continue my immediate project. 

As I plugged in the last lamp, I noticed Dean emerge from the hall that led to the bedrooms. He stared around the room, his eyes landing on the new appliances, but he remained silent. His eyes seemed a little less red rimmed and slightly more rested compared to earlier. 

“Rest okay?” I asked as he just continued to gaze into the room. The way he carried himself was a testament to the heaviness he felt, the burden he carried, the guilt that he couldn’t save Sam. 

But he didn’t answer my question. He just sat down in the same chair he had been occupying. And that’s where he remained. Even when Castiel came by to ask how Dean was doing. 

The Winchester did not take kindly to the angel. Dean had yelled at Cas, asked where he had been. Asked why he couldn’t step in and stop it - stop Sam from dying. 

“Dean!” I intervened. I didn’t want to yell, but I knew it was the only way to get Dean to stop placing blame on Cas. “Dean, stop it! You really think you’re the only one who feels guilty?! You think you’re the only one suffering?! You’re not! Castiel came to see if you’re okay! So stop acting like a dick!” 

The outburst, although unexpected, released some of the tension that had found a home on my shoulders. Dean glared at me, his green eyes filled with rage and so much anger I thought he might burst into roaring flames. Instead, he stormed off toward his room and slammed the door.

“I’m sorry about that, Cas,” I said when Dean had left. 

Castiel shook his head, his cobalt eyes full of sympathy and sorrow. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault he’s so angry. Maybe I should have been there sooner. Maybe I could have done something to stop all this from happening.”

I approached the angel and placed a hand on his arm in hopes to reassure him. “There was nothing you could have done, Cas. Sometimes I wish I would have just gone on this hunt with them. That a third person would somehow prevent it all from…” I stopped and took a stabilizing breath. “But it wouldn’t have made a difference. We all know you got there when you could. What were you doing anyway? And, I genuinely want to know. I’m not trying to make you feel worse, Cas.” 

He gave a grateful half-smile as he took a seat at one of the tables in the library. “I was in a fight.” 

“A fight? With who?”

“It really doesn’t matter who it was. The point is, I had gone to make sure something was...alright when I was ambushed by some angels. It was almost as if they were expecting me. If it weren’t for them, maybe I…” His voice drifted off as an expression of regret flooded in. 

“Cas,” I said as I reached for his hand. “Cas, please. We all feel like there was something more we could have done, but there wasn’t.” I wiped away a few stray tears. “We all feel the pain of Sam’s death.” I paused, almost unable to ask the question that demanded to be asked. “D-do you know where he is?” 

Cas gave a matter-of-fact nod. “He’s at peace.”

“In heaven?” I asked, voice full of hope. 

“Yes.” 

I sighed and felt further weight lift. Good. Sam deserved to be in his own heaven rather than an eternity of further suffering. Tears of silent relief fell, and Cas wiped them away as he wrapped me in a tight hug. I clung to Castiel’s trenchcoat as I continued to cry, mixed feelings of thankfulness and mourning conglomerating into something with no name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to set the entire mood for this fic, this is the music I listened to while writing the majority of it:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imhmn4r0gic&t=1040s


	2. Part 2

“What the hell do you want me to do about it?!” 

Dean’s rage-filled voice echoed throughout the bunker, and I winced at the tone, the volume, as he shot anger at whoever was on the phone. 

“Take care of it!” he yelled again. "Don't call me again!" 

He threw the phone across the room and stormed off. That was the third phone he’d broken in the past month. 

I heard the Impala roar to life and peel out of the garage, and I knew he was either driving to the store to get more alcohol or driving to a bar to imbibe. Either way, it wasn’t going to end well. Dean hadn’t hunted since his brother’s death. He hadn’t really done anything but drink and sparingly eat. He had lost a lot of weight since Sam’s accident. My concern for him was growing by the second. Instead of being stressed about hunting, I was stressed about keeping Dean alive long enough for him to heal. Long enough for him to move on from the immediate pain. 

Dean had never looked so hollow since meeting him and Sammy. He was usually so full of confidence to the point of cockiness. His walk held a swagger that let everyone know he meant business, that he was sure of himself, and he wasn't someone to be messed with. Lately, however, he shuffled around and his shoulders drooped. His eyes held a numbness when he wasn't yelling at someone over the phone lines. He drowned away every sensation with the alcohol that somehow kept appearing on the bar cart. I wasn't the one buying it. 

“Y/n.” 

The deep timbre caught me off guard and I spun to see Castiel standing behind me, my hand to my heart in shock. “Cas,” I breathed. “Hi.” 

“How’s Dean?”

Castiel had checked in from time to time, although he was wary about announcing his presence to Dean. He was still angry with Cas, thought he should have done something to save Sam. 

“About the same,” I replied to Cas. “I don’t know what to do. He needs to let himself grieve. But he’s just...angry. Closed off from everything.” 

“Where is he?” 

I shook my head and shrugged. “I have no idea. He flew out of the garage headed who-knows-where.” 

“I’m worried, Y/n.” 

“Get in line.” 

Castiel gave a sad smile and wrapped me in a hug that I had become familiar with. “It’ll be okay.”

“You telling me that or yourself?” I asked as I buried my head in Cas’s chest. 

He rested his chin on the top of my head and sighed. “Both, I suppose.” 

It almost became a ritual. Dean would leave in anger and Castiel would appear to ask how Dean was. I only had one answer for the angel, and Dean only had one mood. It was becoming tiring, and I tried to be patient with Dean. This wasn’t a time to push someone into healing, into moving on. His entire life purpose had just flipped upside down and sideways. Part of his being was completely missing. It was as if someone had chopped off one of his limbs and told him to keep walking. Dean was lost. 

"Do you need anything?" Castiel asked.

I shook my head and planted a fake smile across a face most likely riddled with anxiety. "No."

Cas tilted his head to the side and asked once more. "Y/n. You know you can rely on me for any need you have. Are you certain there isn't anything I can do?" 

With a nod and another smile, I tried assuring my friend that I would be okay. "It's fine, Cas. I'm sure there's some heavenly crisis going on." 

"Y/n..."

"Cas," I said, resting a hand on his buttoned-up chest. "I've got everything handled. Now, you should probably be going soon. If Dean sees you when he gets back..."

Castiel nodded although his eyes held a longing to aid in my endeavors. "You're right. Call me if you do need help."

"I will." 

Cas lifted his brows and gave his well-practiced puppy eyed stare. "Promise?"

"I promise." 

With a final hug and the flutter of angel wings, I was left alone in the bunker once more. It was an opportunity to do a few things for Dean I knew he wouldn't do himself. Dean would more than likely be gone for the remainder of the cloudy day, so I made a list of things he needed, items he was running low on, and a few of his favorite comfort foods, which did include cherry pie. 

As I replaced his shampoo bottle, his soap, and his toothpaste, I picked up the clothes he left lying around the bathroom. With a sigh of near exasperation, I tried shoving down any feelings of frustration with the Winchester. I knew he was in no place to take care of himself. He was barely functioning as it was. Doing the simple things was the least I could do to help in some way. He needed distance - I knew that much. I couldn't walk into his room to ask if he was okay. There would be no healing cry-it-out moment. No, Dean had to stew in whatever he was self-inducing before an inkling of improvement presented itself. 

It was much, much later in the day when the bunker door heaved open and slammed shut. Heavy footfalls sounded on the metal of the stairs and an equally as heavy-hearted Dean shuffled down the hallway to his room without even an acknowledgement of a hello. 

I held my head in my hands as I prayed that somehow Dean would be okay after all this. That somehow he could live with Sam's absence. And absence it was. The bunker felt so empty. It was like a vacuum of hopelessness and misery. There were no longer two brothers fake-arguing in the kitchen. There was no longer any prank wars. There wasn't any laughter whatsoever. No happiness. Just pure, unadulterated anguish. 

"Sam..." I mumbled. "Why'd it have to be you?" 

My head dropped to rest on the table and I covered the back of my neck with my hands as I sobbed into the cold, hard surface. A hand unexpectedly rested on my shoulder and I snapped up and twisted around. 

Cas. 

I hastily stood and let the comfort of Castiel's arms envelope me, pull me close, as he tried to soothe away the aches and pains of loss. 

And that was also something that was gone forever. Sam's strong hugs. There was nothing that could replace the safety that ensued when Sam wrapped his moose arms around me. The last hug had truly been the last. 

"Just breathe, Y/n," Cas cooed as my breaths became erratic, close to hyperventilation. "Breathe. It'll be okay. I promise. It'll be okay." 

So we stood there in the library. And although Castiel's embrace never wavered, I still felt the overwhelming sense of loneliness in a world where Dean was without Sam.


	3. Part 3

The bunker was quiet. Dean stared at the laptop Sam had used when he searched for new potential cases. It hadn't been opened in over a month. It hadn't even been turned on. It only collected dust and remained powerless as Dean hadn't mustered the courage to even think about taking on anything without his brother by his side. It truly was like Dean had lost an appendage, an extension of himself. 

"You want me to do it?" I asked from my place across the table from him. 

He shook his head and rested his hands on the lid of the computer. "No." 

I shrugged and continued sorting laundry. Most of it had been picked up off Dean's floor. Both of us had tried readjusting to a sense of normalcy. Jody had called asking for advice on a few strange cases that came across her desk, and Dean answered her questions without throwing his cellphone across the room. I had managed to replace those that had been broken, but I was still afraid of any calls that came in. If it were the wrong day at the wrong time, another phone could end up a mess of chips and bits. 

I told myself I kept up the facade for Dean, that he needed a sense of strength from someone other than himself, but I was beginning to feel drained. Somewhere between the sense of emptiness and the fake bravado, I had managed to completely empty my own fuel tank of energy. But I still worked to keep Dean in a good place. I managed to begin going through Sam's things by myself. Dean wouldn't even approach the room his brother had claimed. Sam's things were far and few between other than his closet full of flannel shirts and jackets. Although he claimed the bunker to be his home, Sam never truly settled into the place like Dean had. There were a lot of books that belonged to the Men of Letters library, and they were easily returned. Other than his clothes and lore, Sam's room was sparse. 

Dean still stared at the laptop, unmoving and unblinking. His hands hadn't moved from the lid. 

"Dean. Are you sure you don't want me to open it first?" I asked as I folded a pair of his boxers. 

He flicked his eyes up momentarily before sliding the laptop over. 

I had to take a deep breath to steady myself as I ripped off the bandaid and opened the laptop for the first time since Sam's death. I logged in and was greeted with the wallpaper I knew would be there. 

It was a photo of all of us: Sam, Dean, Castiel, and myself. We were somewhere in Wyoming and had just finished a huge case. One of the hunters we had become good friends with offered to take our picture when he saw us struggling to get everyone in frame. It was almost like a family photo. Dean had Sam in a quasi-headlock, and the much taller brother laughed, his hazel eyes lit up in a moment of carefree peace. Castiel had wrapped me in a warm hug and my arms disappeared into his trenchcoat. It was a good memory, but now it was laced with melancholy. 

I quickly opened the program Sam had used to search police reports and news reels and turned the computer back toward Dean. 

"Here," I said, my voice a little clipped from seeing the background photo. 

Dean's voice was low and mumbled. "Thanks." It sounded half-hearted.

I took the laundry basket and delivered clean clothes to Dean's room and my own. On my way back to the small laundry room, I paused at the familiar door that almost seemed to be waiting for its occupant to return. I couldn't help but stare at it, and the memories of that room flooded forward. The nights Sam and I would binge something on Netflix. The days when Dean and I pounded on his door to let him know someone had called with a new case. Waking him up in the most annoying way possible. Sam would pick me up and effortlessly throw me over his shoulder, walking around the bunker while I laughed till it hurt. 

Although I knew it would cause further agony, I opened the door and stepped inside, abandoning the laundry basket in the hallway. The room still smelled like him, still lingered with the presence of Sammy. I felt grief bubbling up from where I kept it locked away. I had managed to hold everything at bay while sorting through Sam's belongings, but without a task for distraction, the unexpected loss of Sam was all I could feel in that moment. I still expected him to just walk though the door like nothing had happened. That this was a nightmare and I'd wake up soon. Or that it was some sort of sick cosmic joke. But Sammy was gone. 

I wiped away the fresh tears and forced myself to rush out the door and down the hall before I fell to pieces. There would be no more laundry delivered to that room.

As I stepped back into the library, Dean was gone and Sam's laptop was shoved into the center of the table, abandoned. With a sigh, I picked it up and stored it out of sight. When Dean was ready, we'd get it out again, but it was obviously too much at the present time and only served as a reminder of the precious life that had been lost.


	4. Part 4

Without Castiel I would have gone insane. Dean hardly spoke to me, and when he did it was in a tone of annoyance. He still sulked around the bunker, still drank too much whiskey, but it wasn't in me to slap him and tell him to snap out of it. So, Castiel kept me company, talked to me while Dean learned how to cope, but it was questionable if he was 'coping' at all. 

Dean walked into the kitchen where Cas and I sat at the table, one of the white, red rimmed coffee cup in my hands as Castiel rested his arms against the surface of the tabletop. Dean didn't acknowledge the angel's presence. He simply kept his head down and grabbed a beer from the over-stocked fridge and walked back out. 

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked the hunter quietly. 

"No," he snipped without turning around. 

I sighed as Dean disappeared down the hall. Castiel turned concerned eyes to me. 

"He looks awful." 

It was the truth. Dean hadn't cut his hair, his beard, or overall taken care of himself. He was beginning to look like a mountain man. 

"At least he showers now." I sipped from the warm beverage and stared at the opening of the kitchen, silently begging Dean to come back in and take food out of the fridge instead of what his go-to had become.

"How much have you been sacrificing for him?" 

The question took me aback and I snapped my attention back to the angel before me. His eyes were gentle, kind, but laced with worry. "What?"

"You're tired, Y/n. How much have you been doing for him?"

I just shook my head and shrugged. "I don't know." I paused as the list formed itself in my mind. "Cooking, cleaning...Picking up all the empty bottles he leaves everywhere. Replacing used items in the shower. Laundry, but I did that before...all of this. Making food runs. Giving him as much distance as humanly possible. Letting him talk if he needs to, which he rarely does. He just keeps to himself, which I know is making everything worse. He needs to vent, let it all out, but he's either in that chair in the library or in his room." 

The chair in the library. It had been Sam's preferred seat, and Dean had chosen it as his place to sit and drink. I was half tempted to take the chair away altogether. 

"What else?"

I sighed. "I don't know, Cas. The list goes on and on. I've given up hunting - my job - to make sure Dean doesn't...kill himself with the amount he's been drinking. Or on the off chance he can't take it anymore and..." I sighed and ran fingers through my hair, closing my eyes. "I guess I'm doing more for him than I am myself."

"And he talks to you in this way? Angrily? That doesn't seem appropriate." 

"It's where he is right now. He _is_ angry. I honestly wouldn't expect him to speak to anyone differently. Just...give him time. Don't bring it up."

Castiel nodded, although I could see the conflict in his cobalt eyes. Cas was Dean's battle buddy. They had been through every apocalypse, every universal crisis, every monkey wrench that was thrown - together. It pained me to see Dean so horrendously furious with Castiel. I knew it came from a place of hurt, of guilt even, that Sam had died. I just hoped they would mend the fences and put it behind them. Cas already had. It was up to Dean to step forward and forgive his friend. 

* * *

Dean hadn't come out of his room for a few days, not even to refill a whiskey glass. It only raised my suspicion of the stash he may have in his room. I knocked on the door and waited of any sort of response on his part. I pressed my ear against the barrier and focused. There were some shuffling sounds, like feet scooting across the concrete of the floor, and it was enough to know he was still living. 

"Dean," I gently called into the room. "Are you hungry?" 

He didn't respond, so I walked away to leave him to his own devices. I knew he had no idea which direction to go in regard to moving forward without Sam. Neither did I, but at least Castiel was around to let me talk, cry, and siphon strength from. It helped, and every instinct told me that Dean needed the same thing, but only Sam could get Dean to open up. There was only one problem with that. 

It was late into the evening and still there had been no sign of Dean. With a sigh of concern, I quickly made him a sandwich and walked, once more, down the hall to his more than likely dark room. 

I knocked on the door and waited. He still remained silent. 

"I made you something if you want it. I'll just leave it out here, alright?" I set the plate down outside the door and stared in hopes it would open, but it never did. "I'm here if you need anything." 

I walked down the hall to the showers and decided to take a hot, relaxing, steaming shower. It would help relax the tension that found its way back into my shoulders, and as I stood under the spray of water, I closed my eyes. Deep breaths stretched my lungs as I tried to let go of the stress of looking after Dean. The alcoholism was the most frightening. Addiction came in many forms, and his was used to numb everything that swarmed around in his mind, his heart. I was terrified that he wouldn't wake up one day or drown in his own vomit. 

_We need you Sammy,_ I thought. _Dean's killing himself down here. You're the only one who could make him see reason. And you're not here. I just don't understand why it had to be you. We miss you. Even if it were possible, I'd beg Dean not to bring you back. You're living your paradise. It would be cruel and selfish to pull you away._

I redressed after the somewhat relaxing shower and walked the short distance to my room to grab a blanket and a pillow. I would take my post where I had for the past few weeks. Outside Dean's room. I hoped sleep would come that night. Much of the time, I would only sit outside Dean's door, sleep a foreign concept. We were almost matched for deprivation. As I approached his door, I saw the plate still outside but with one extremely important change. The sandwich was gone and crumbs were the only evidence it had existed. Before settling for the night, I returned the plate to the kitchen. With the pillow propped against the wall, I wrapped the blanket around my arms and closed my eyes. 

He ate. It was a victory.


	5. Part 5

The room was dark, cold, and stank of body odor and open whiskey bottles. The single occupant lied motionless in the middle of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the blank ceiling. Spiraling thought after spiraling thought slammed into the walls of his brain, inner demons becoming his enemy. Begging them to stop hadn't worked. Constant drink did nothing. He was stuck with his own horrible string of self-deprecation, agonizing grief, and paralyzing numbness. 

Dean didn't know what to do, what to think, when he watched Sam literally vanish before his eyes. Sam hadn't just vanished, though. He had vaporized, dematerialized right before Dean. Sam looked to be in seering pain, but Dean was stuck by the paranormal force that held him down. The brothers exchanged a glance of complete panic before Sam was just...gone. Dean had internalized that moment, played it on repeat too many times to count. It was the worst rerun in history. What was worse was the fact Dean couldn't do anything to bring his brother back. Not a damn thing. He couldn't even give Sammy a proper hunter's funeral without a body to burn. There hadn't been any sense of closure. 

Dean knew turning to the drink wouldn't end well. It hadn't before. What would make it any better now? However, almost like a reflex, Dean reached for the whiskey bottles and the beers without a second thought. He watched day after day go by, neglected himself, didn't even realize how long his hair was getting, how much of a mess his beard was. In truth, he didn't care. All he cared about, all he wanted, was for his baby brother to walk back through that door as if nothing had ever happened. 

He sensed Y/n moving through the bunker, knew she was there, but she was more of a ghost in his eyes. She drifted from room to room, sometimes left things for him or straightened up his things, but he generally ignored her. The only thing he truly noticed was at the beginning of this mess - when she cleaned up the library and replaced everything he had broken. Although nothing could ever truly fix the shattered pieces inside him. 

At some point he stopped crying. Either it was because the numbness had taken over or he had no more tears left, but the screaming in his mind never stopped. 

_You idiot_ the voices would say. _How could you just let your brother die? How could you fail him after all these years? Do you know what Dad would be doing right now if he were still here? You'd be beaten senseless, berated, for letting Sam's life just...disappear like that. Dad wouldn't shut up about it- he'd remind you every single day of what you'd done. But you're taking care of that yourself, aren't you. What were you thinking? You both knew this wouldn't end well. So why did you think risking your brother's life was a good idea? You failed. Sam would still be alive if you had just stayed home - ignored it. But no. You did what you always do. You convinced yourself and Sam that you should follow up. You stupid, stupid failure of a hunter. You idiot. You're a sad excuse for a brother. You were supposed to protect him, and look what you did instead. You got him killed. And for what._

The cycle never stopped. 

In an attempt to shut the voices off, to force them to leave him alone, Dean drank. Endlessly. Constantly. Repeatedly. He knew it could end detrimentally, but how bad could it really be? Sam was already gone. What else did he have to live for? Dean felt like his life had just pulled the rug out from under him. He was dazed, confused, and felt completely worthless without his brother by his side. 

When the voices became too much, he would blare music into his ears, hoping to at least quiet them. There were days he considered giving an all-call to any monster in the area and just let them tear him to shreds. Sure, it would be painful, but it would be nothing compared to what he was already going through. 

Without her, Dean knew he would have been dead. She kept him alive, forced him to eat, made him clean up. She shoved water into his hands and watched as he drank it then quietly and gently walked away. He would watch her as she turned and left him to his own devices. He wondered why she was doing all this, wasting all her energy on a worthless cause, but he never stopped her. Sure, he was a little irritable with her sometimes when all he wanted was to be left alone, but she always ignored it. Although he never said it, he was secretly appreciative of her efforts. It gave him the smallest reason to keep going. 

However, without his brother, Dean knew his life had changed forever. He sensed no return of his former happiness. It had left with Sam's vaporizing form. All that remained was self-hatred and utter despondency.


	6. Part 6

"Hey, Dean. Could you come into the kitchen with me?" I gently asked into the library where Dean sat in the same chair he'd occupied from day one without Sam. He didn't respond or even show acknowledgement that I was there or had spoken to him. With a sigh, I approached the table and sat across from him, watched him for a few seconds before speaking again. Those dark circles had grown a shade darker. His hair fell in front of his distant green eyes. With lips pursed and whiskey glass in hand, Dean still withheld himself from the world outside of his own.

"Dean, please come to the kitchen with me. It won't take long." I tried to keep my tone as soft as possible as to not aggravate him.

He looked up from staring at the dark wood of the tabletop. His eyes were so empty, and it pulled at my heartstrings. If I could take it all away - all the hurt he felt - I would do it without hesitation. 

"Please?" I added. 

Without a word, he slowly stood and followed me into the kitchen, although he still carried the glass of whiskey like a security blanket a child would tote around. His feet barely lifted from the floor as he walked, and the shuffling sound was the only way I would have known he was still behind me. He didn't speak a word. A single chair sat in the middle of the kitchen and a towel was draped over it. I held up clippers and a pair of scissors as I gestured for Dean to sit down. 

Dean flicked his gaze between the scissors and the chair, the pieces coming together in his mind. 

"Just one hair cut. Okay?" 

A small nod. He took a seat, heavily landing in the chair, and I covered his shoulders with the towel. In an endeavor to learn what to do, I had watched multiple videos on how to cut men's hair, especially the tutorials on the way Dean usually had his. Castiel had let me practice on him, and, although the style didn't suit the angel, the small skill would do in trimming the overgrowth atop Dean's head. His hair length would have begun to contend with Sammy's. 

"Do you know what you're doing?" Dean questioned. His tone was heavy, and his voice was barely audible. It was clear he hadn't spoken often. 

I was glad he had said something, but talking would be a distraction from the task at hand. "Shh. I have to focus." 

Locks of almond hair fell to the floor unceremoniously as Dean's untamed mop received overdue attention. He sat still and didn't talk any further as I sectioned off his hair and checked my phone for notes I had taken in preparation for the task. Although Dean's exterior remained hard and unamused, I could see the small relaxation of his shoulders, the way his neck unlocked as I moved his head into whatever position I needed it to be in. At one point he closed his eyes and seemed to enjoy the sensation of someone messing with his hair. 

I checked for evenness and clipped a few stray hairs then handed Dean a mirror. 

"How's it look?" I asked as he stared at his reflection. 

Dean turned his head from side to side as he looked in the mirror. He ran a callused hand over the places his hair was buzzed, as if to check for bald spots. "Not bad," he mumbled.

I shoved the scissors into his hand and directed him to the bathroom. "Now, take these, and go fix the thing covering your face." 

I removed the towel from around his shoulders, brushed some of the hairs from his neck and what had fallen beneath the towel, and he stood, but hesitated. He looked at the scissors in his hand then up at me. At first, I thought he was going to say 'thank you', but instead, he walked silently down the hall. 

The haircut and shave were used to disguise the little shove I felt like giving - a shove for him to kickstart his life again. He had pushed the pause button indefinitely, and, although I knew he felt overwhelmed, he needed to do _something._ It would truly put him in a better frame of mind.

It wasn't long till Dean reappeared, and his usual five o'clock shadow had replaced the previous mess. 

Now, if only I could get some meat put back on his bones. He was too thin, and I honestly wasn't certain the last time he had eaten since the small sandwich. The kitchen was stocked with all his favorites. He just had to pick one and fix it up. 

"Feel better?" I asked as he rummaged through the refrigerator. 

He simply nodded as he took out a rogue piece of pie. "Yeah." He took the dessert and a fork with him and left the kitchen. 

* * *

"Get your shoes on," I said as I opened Dean's bedroom door without knocking. 

The light wasn't on and Dean reclined across his bed, his headphones over his ears. His face contorted into an expression of shocked irritation. "Excuse me?" 

"Shoes. Now. Be in the garage in ten minutes,or I'm dragging you there." 

"What the hell, Y/n!" he snapped. 

"Please," I added before shutting the door again and walking away. 

It was a risk. I knew this could go one of two ways. Either Dean would sit in his room and ignore me or he'd show up, rather displeased. I tossed the keys of the Impala in the air as I waited for Dean to make up his mind. The backseat held the familiar green cooler that we always used on road trips. It was full of beer. Although Dean had been doing nothing but drinking for the past few months, I knew it would help Dean's inner guard mechanisms fall.

When he walked through the door of the garage, I gave a weak smile and motioned for him to get in as I crawled behind the wheel. He looked annoyed that I was driving Baby, but he didn't have any choice in the matter. 

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, a tone of frustration in his words. 

I didn't answer as we left the garage and began the short drive. After a long internal debate, I decided Dean would need a bit more of a push. I had expended a lot of energy to put his broken pieces back together again, to somehow help mend him. Nothing was working. If he didn't talk, and soon, Dean would be his own factor in self-destruction. 

The Impala rolled to the edge of a lake and I threw it in park. I exited the '67 classic and retrieved the green cooler and, without waiting for Dean, walked to the edge of the peer that stretched over a small expanse of the water. I sat down and waited for the elder brother to join me. It took a while for the door to creak open and slam shut, but Dean eventually edged his way over, his boots heavy on the worn wood of the dock. He sat beside me with a huff and reached into the cooler, popping the top off a beer and raising it to his lips. 

When he spoke, it surprised me. We had sat in silence for hours. The sun had set. Frogs and cicadas croaked and buzzed as the water lapped at the shoreline. 

"I miss him," he said, his voice low and nearly imperceptible. I didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue, afraid that if I spoke, it would place a cork back into the bottled up thoughts and feelings. "I just feel like part of me is missing. That everything I've done up to this point has been for nothing." Dean ran a hand over his face and shook his head. I noticed his eyes squeezed shut, his expression screwed up into one of sorrow. "I lost everything, Y/n."

I shook my head and stared at him, tried to keep my voice soft and comforting. "You may have lost the one person who was the most important to you, but you didn't even come close to losing everything, Dean. You still have Cas. You still have me. You have the bunker, Baby, people that still need saving. You still have a purpose even without Sam here. There's still a life to live." 

"I just feel so empty. Like nothing's worth it anymore."

"Your life is always worth it, Dean. Don't ever forget that."

"Without Sammy..." His voice began to quiver and I glanced over. Dean's eyes welled up with tears that were close to falling. "...Without Sammy, I feel like there's no point. To anything. Yeah, we fought sometimes, but we were brothers above anything else. We always had each other's backs. What the hell am I supposed to do now, Y/n? I feel so damn lost." 

I dared to shift closer to him to rest an arm around his back and give an awkward side-hug. "You're supposed to keep going, Dean. To pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going. What would Sam want you to do?"

"I've been asking myself that same question. But he wouldn't want me to keep hunting. He'd want me to get out - to find someone and live the life we always talked about." He wiped at the tears that had fallen and sniffed. 

"Then do it."

"How the hell am I going to do that? It doesn't feel right."

"Why not?"

Dean snapped his gaze toward me. From what I could see of his eyes, they were covered in instant anger. "Because he's gone!" he yelled in my face. His expression softened a little as he realized how close I was to him, like he never noticed the hand rubbing across his back. "He's gone. He's not coming back. I failed him, Y/n. I failed!" His words stung and held an enormous burden of guilt. "Why couldn't I stop it? I should have been able to stop it!" he yelled. "I should have- Why couldn’t I-” Dean choked. "He's gone because of me..."

“Shhh,” I soothed. I swallowed back the shakiness of my voice for the sake of comforting Dean. "You can't do everything, Dean. There are some things that we can't stop, we can't change, no matter how hard we try or how hard we want them to. There’s nothing you could have done. I wish he was still here, too. I'm so sorry.” I paused to wipe away more tears. I thought there were no more left to fall after all this time, but that assumption was wrong. "It's going to be okay, Dean. I don't know when, I don't know how, but everything is going to be okay. You just have to have faith." It was a quote from Sammy, and I hoped it would get through to him.

Dean practically collapsed as he leaned against me, as he clung to me, buried his head in my shirt, and I did my best to hold him. His sobs were relentless as they echoed through the night air, as they caused his body to convulse with each pang of sorrow. The stoic, powerful, unfazed hunter was truly shattered, and although he was bawling like a baby at the edge of a lake, this was the healthiest thing he'd done since Sam's death. 

Dean cried himself to sleep that night on the dock. He had lied down, his head in my lap, and I combed through his freshly cut hair as he continued to sob. Tears formed damp spots in my jeans, but it truthfully didn't matter. Dean was venting. It was a relief. But when he fell asleep, I stared up at the sky and believed I was looking toward heaven where Sam was. 

"I still don't understand," I whispered, hoping Dean wouldn't stir. "It's just not the same without you, Sammy. We're trying down here." I stared down at the sleeping man whose head was in my lap. No words could describe what Dean was going through. Nothing in this world equated to the way Dean blamed himself for everything. How he wanted, practically needed Sam to come back. It was obvious - Dean's most precious thing was no longer with him, and all that was left was a raw, gaping hole. "We're trying." 

We were vulnerable out in the open like that, but it was a risk I was willing to take if Dean received much needed sleep and I felt a small wave of peace wash over me for the first time since that horrible day.

My only question was: would Dean take this as a chance to pick himself up, to learn how to live without his brother, or would he just continue on the same trend? I feared the latter.


	7. Part 7

The library had become the area of most traffic. Either Dean would pass from the bar cart to the chair or he would take a decanter back with him to his room. I tried to hold up the mask of having it all together for Dean's sake. It had been half a year since Sam's death, and Dean had improved but only to a point. He kept his hair groomed and actually ate. He had gained weight back to a healthy level, but that had been the end of it. He had stalled. 

"Y/n." Castiel's usual greeting sounded from behind me, and I turned to see the angel with concern-laced eyes. "Anything?"

I shook my head, my shoulders slumped in disappointment. 

"There has to be something we can do. Perhaps taking him on a case would help -"

I immediately cut him off at the notion of taking Dean to hunt anything without Sam. "No, Cas. I made the mistake of mentioning it once. It only set him off. There was glass everywhere. Please, don't suggest hunting." I knew my voice sounded desperate, and I was. In no circumstance was I in the mood to clean up shards of broken glass for a third time. Once had been enough. 

"But it's something familiar," Castiel argued. "I would think doing something like that, something he's done for years, would ease up a portion of the burden."

"You would think, but it probably just serves as another reminder that Sam is no longer here. He acts like he's the only one going through it, but honestly it's just as heavy on me. On you. He doesn't get it." 

Castiel furrowed his brow and sat down hard at one of the library tables. "It's been 6 months, Y/n." Cas ran a palm over the scruff on his face. I could see the disquiet stress behind his generally sure eyes. 

"Believe me, I'm aware of how much time it's been. It's been 6 months of tiptoeing around him."

"What about that night at the docks? I thought it produced a breakthrough." 

I shrugged as I took a seat across from Cas. "I thought that as well, but it was a one-night thing, I guess. He's been almost more quiet after that. It's just a continuous cycle, Cas."

Castiel leaned forward and rested his arms on the tabletop, a serious expression across his tired face. Whatever celestial issue he had been dealing with, it was apparently exhausting. With Dean added to his already full plate, I knew Castiel was dealing with almost more than even an angel could handle.

"Has he acknowledged your efforts?" he asked. It was a topic he brought up at least once per visit.

Shaking my head, I felt a frown replace the deadpan from moments earlier. "No. I'm not worried about it, honestly. I'm beginning to think that none of it mattered in the long run."

"But without you, he'd be..." Castiel sighed and shook his head, unable to even finish the thought aloud. 

"We don't know that for certain." 

"Y/n, you've bent over backwards for him. I don't know how many times I've come here to find you cooking his meals, folding his socks, or...or removing bottles of liquor from his room. How many of those meals has he actually eaten? Or how many times has he returned the favor of cleaning up your room? Without you, he'd be an even bigger mess."

I rested a hand on the angel's, and gave a weak, forced smile. "I appreciate that, Cas, but it's useless. I'd do it all over again."

"There's such a thing as being too selfless, Y/n. And I've never seen you so depleted of energy, or of yourself. And I've seen you after fighting werewolves, vampires, and demons. This is something else. You're emotionally vacant." 

"I'm not quite sure how to take that." 

"You know what I mean. When was the last time you did something for yourself?"

I shrugged and leaned back in the old, wooden chair, the pieces creaking from age. "I don't know. Probably before Sam..." I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. Even after six months, it was difficult to acknowledge that Sammy was no longer with us. "If I don't take care of Dean, he won't make it."

"Do you know that for certain?"

"No, but why take the risk?"

"Y/n." 

I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but what he had said rang true. I _was_ depleted, exhausted. Somewhere along the way of taking care of Dean, the essence of who I was had abandoned me. Perhaps I had given too much, but I couldn't bear to see my friend in such a horrible state. Admittedly, I thought he would be more along the mended path than he currently sat, but who was I to push people along the grieving process? 

"Y/n." 

The rough tone shocked me, and I gasped as I turned to see Dean standing in the doorway of the library. It had been a long time since he had last spoken to me, and I was equal parts relieved and surprised. 

"Dean. Hi," I said as I stood up to go to him. "What is it?" 

That's when I noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder and the heavy duffel bag in his hand. With confused eyes, I met the hunter's sullen stare. He quickly flicked his tongue over his chapped lips as he prepared the words in his head he wanted to say. His shoulders still slumped after all this time. He held himself with heaviness, and I so wished to take it all from him, put it on myself, so he could learn to be alright without Sam's presence. 

"Dean? What..." 

He sighed and pursed his lips momentarily. "I'm heading out." 

I began to rush toward the hallway. "I'll come with you. Just give me time to pack."

Dean quickly shook his head and took a step toward me. "No. I'm going alone." 

My brow furrowed at the words. Surely I had heard him wrong. "Wh-where are you going?"

"I don't know."

With alarm flying through my veins, I just stared at him. He couldn't do this. He couldn't leave! "Are you ever coming back?" 

Dean just shrugged as he shifted the backpack and adjusted his weight from one foot to the other. In that moment, I felt like everything I had done was for nothing. There was no payout. Dean was still as miserable as he was the first day he came back and told me that Sammy was dead. He still felt like it had, in some way, been his fault. The agony in his green eyes was paralyzing. I couldn't even imagine what was going through his head. 

Without another word, Dean turned and walked up the stairs of the bunker. The Impala roared to life and gently drove away from the one place I thought Dean called home. 

Castiel hadn't said anything as Dean left. He only stood in shocked silence. I turned toward the angel to be greeted with wide and confused eyes. 

"I'm going after him." 

I rushed to get the keys to my truck when Castiel's firm hand wrapped around my arm to stop me. 

"Don't," he stated, matter-of-fact.

"But Cas-"

"Y/n, if he wants to go, then let him. You've done enough." 

"But he'll-"

"Dean has to take care of himself eventually. Let him go." 

"What happened to 'without me, he'd probably be dead'?" I felt myself becoming angry, but I knew it was because I felt like Dean was endangering himself. And abandoning me.

"It was true at the beginning. Not now."

I jerked my arm out of Castiel's grip and trudged to the kitchen instead of going to find the truck keys. I roughly grabbed the large trash can and dragged it to the refrigerator, the metal scraping against the concrete of the kitchen floor.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked as he trailed behind me. 

"What needs to be done." 

I emptied the fridge of every drop of alcohol and repeated the act with the bar cart in the library. After watching Dean drown himself, I had no desire to drink the stuff or even look at it. He had supplied it himself, wasted a lot of money just numbing himself. I knew Sammy would have called him out a long time ago, but I wasn't Sam. That much was obvious. 

"Are you going to be okay?" Cas questioned as I dragged the trash can to Dean's room. 

"Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?" I turned toward Castiel and was greeted with open, waiting arms. 

"Come here," he whispered, and I sank once more into the one who had truly gotten me through the immediate pain of Sam's death. I tried being the same person for Dean, but the elder brother didn't want anything to do with anyone. Part of me thought it was because Castiel and I reminded him of Sammy. He had already removed everything else that sparked even a flitting memory. Perhaps he was trying to remove Cas and me as well. 

"I just..." I whispered into his chest. "I tried. I tried so damn hard."

Castiel placed a kiss on the top of my head and rested his cheek over the place he had kissed. "I know you did, but it's up to Dean if he actually wants to get over this. I'm not downsizing the difficulty of this. Sam was his last tie to family, and Dean essentially raised him. However, this has gone on long enough. Perhaps Dean just needs his own space, far away from anyone. He'll come back." 

"Are you sure?" 

Castiel didn't respond, and that was all the answer I needed. There was a great probability that Dean would go somewhere that didn't remind him of Sam every day. The bunker was full of memories. Dean just wanted to forget, and the alcohol hadn't granted that. Perhaps just leaving would. 


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last addition. It's not a happy ending.

Three months. Dean had been missing for three months. No hunter, no ally, no angel, not even Crowley, could zero in on where he was or where he'd been. He had warded himself and Baby. He didn't want to be found by anyone or anything. Castiel had resulted to staying with me when we gave up the search. Not even traffic cameras managed to capture the distinct car. He was truly dust in the wind. 

"Hey, Cas, could you hand me the salt while you're over there?" 

The angel and I were in the kitchen, I fixing myself some dinner while Castiel thumbed through his phone. Although we had mostly given up, Cas still checked any site that might lead to Dean. 

"Sure," he replied as he passed the spice. 

"Thank you." I sprinkled the salt around the dish I was cooking and glanced at Cas as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Anything?"

Cas shook his head and placed his phone into the pocket of his trenchcoat. "No." 

The bunker was a different place without Dean. After he left, a period of adjustment ensued. I had grown accustomed to taking care of him. It had become my purpose after everything that happened. However, I never realized how exhausted I made myself by constantly worrying over his well-being. By making sure he ate, drank something other than liquor, took a shower, etc. I was constantly available whenever he needed me, as seldom as it was. Sometimes he would come into my room if I hadn't slept outside his door, and he would curl up in a ball and sob. Usually it was after he had laid off the whiskey for a day. 

"Well, how's things with heaven?" I asked, changing the subject and forcing my mind from the string of worries. 

Castiel shrugged and huffed a laugh. "Still in turmoil. I checked on Sam for you."

"And?"

The angel gave a warm smile. "His heaven is...beautiful, Y/n. He's with Mary and John and...Jess, I think her name was." 

I nodded and couldn't help the grin that plastered itself across my face. "Yes. Jess is right. That's good. So good." 

"I've never seen him so content."

"He needed peace after the life he led." A wave of sodden gloom washed through my still-aching chest at the question that barely flashed through my mind. "Do...do you think Dean will..."

Castiel sighed and I saw his shoulders drop a little, true uncertainty apparent in his eyes. "I don't know. We can only hope." 

Then, as if on cue for some Hallmark movie, the bunker door heaved opened, and Castiel and I switched focus to who was entering the safest place on earth. Absolutely no one should be entering a place so heavily warded not even angels can find it. I produced the gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans and quietly waited around the corner of the war room, watched to see who came down the stairs. However, before the intruder could be seen, I recognized the footfall pattern, the weight with which they shuffled down the staircase. 

With wide eyes and lips slightly parted, I watched as Dean walked through the war room into the library. He stopped and looked around as if hit with a flood of nostalgia. I followed him and just stared. 

"Dean?" I asked. 

He turned around and I let out a huff of air in shock. It was certainly the elder Winchester. Dean gave a bittersweet, half-hearted grin and I approached him. His shoulders were once again held with confidence and the constant stiffness of his body had disappeared. All things considered, Dean looked...well.

"Wh-where have you been?" 

Dean looked to the floor and swallowed. "A lot of places." 

"What are you doing here?" 

Castiel walked in behind me, a silent pillar of support for the current exchange. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, his tone the casual lilt I remembered from before Sam died. "Well, I came back to uh..." He paused and pursed his lips as he considered the best way to proceed. "To tell you that it's best if we part ways." 

I felt as if all the air had been knocked out of my lungs. I may have staggered backwards. The man I had given all my time to for months, that had been part of my life for many years, was cutting the cord? This couldn't be happening. 

"What?" I breathed. "Why?"

Dean licked his lips and pasted a detached expression across his worn, freckled face. "It's just something I have to do. It's what's best. I'm sorry it has to be this way, Y/n. Cas. I wish there were a different way, but...it's just better like this." 

"You can't really believe that, can you? After everything we've been through together. The years of friendship, partnership...You're just calling it quits? There has to be a better reason. Is it because of Sam? Why, Dean?" 

"Look, I appreciate everything you did for me following Sammy's passing. I could never repay you for everything you did, and I should have paid gratitude long before now, but I wasn't in a good place. Hell, I'm still not 100%, but at least it's better. I just think being here..." He looked around the room we were in. "Being here makes me think of him. Seeing you..." Dean averted his gaze to the cold of the concrete floor. 

"Dean..." 

"You still have Cas. You'll be okay." 

The more he spoke, the more distressed I became. This wasn't happening. "Was there something I could have done to make it better? Anything? Tell me, Dean. Please, don't just walk away. Please."

But Dean just stared at me. Oh, those green eyes told a million stories. The things he'd seen since his dad dragged him and his brother into hunting, into a life of vengeance to track and kill the yellow-eyed demon. The violence. Seeing each other die time and time again till it was the end of the road for one of them. Watching as an innocent bystander died at the hands of the monster they tried to hunt down. 

The elder Winchester just sighed and shook his head. "No. You did enough. Honest. And I'm grateful for you, Y/n. No one could ever replace you or be as good a friend as you've been to all of us." 

"So you're leaving." It wasn't a question. The matter wasn't up for debate. Dean had all but said that. 

"At least I came back to let you know instead of continuing to ignore you." 

"Dean, please," I begged. "Can't we work through this? Somehow?"

He shook his head. "No, Y/n. This is the way it has to be." 

"You can't believe that." 

"I do. I still care about you like I would a sister. That's not going to change. If you need anything, I'll be here, but we can't work together anymore. Not like we used to. So, feel free to stay in the bunker. I won't be using it anymore. I've got a secure safehouse far away from here. It's heavily warded, so you don't have to worry about anything breaking in and ganking me. I can't make myself live in a place that is a constant reminder of Sam." 

Dean closed the distance between us as my distress rose with each word he said. He wrapped me in a tight hug, and I grabbed fistfuls of his flannel shirt, my head buried into the material, tears forming wet patches in the fabric. 

"I love ya, kiddo," he whispered, and he pressed his lips to the top of my head. "Thank you for everything. And I mean that. If you get into trouble, you know how to get in touch." 

He kissed the side of my head before walking away. 

"Dean," Cas called, and Dean turned toward his former best friend. "I want you to know that Sam is in heaven. He's at peace. I probably should have told you long ago. Maybe it would have...helped in some way." 

Dean's lips spread into a pleased grin, and he nodded. "Thanks, Cas. You take care of her, you hear?" 

"I will. Stay safe, Dean." 

"You too." 

He looked me in the eye one last time, a sad smile replacing the happy expression from just a millisecond before. All I could do was stare at one of my greatest friends as he walked back up the stairs and left the bunker for good.

"Dean!" I called, desperate to make him turn around, to change his mind. He couldn't just leave like this! "Dean, please! Stop! Dean!"

I stumbled backward right into Castiel. A different kind of grief coursed through me, and Castiel immediately enveloped me in a tight hug as I broke down. If Dean felt like he failed his little brother, then it was exactly how I felt about Dean at that very moment. That I had failed in my mission to fix him, to hold him together, somehow help him to mend his brokenness. I didn't care if he returned to the same Dean I knew before Sam left. I just wanted him to move on with life and not drown himself. He obviously hadn't needed me. 

"I did it for you, you bastard!" I shouted at the bunker door. 

Taking care of them, hunting with him and Sam, researching into the early morning. It all turned into keeping Dean alive. Everything I did, I did for him, and it felt like he was abandoning me, just up and leaving after so much of my energy had been directed toward him and no one else. I thought when he came back, if he came back, it would be for good. That he'd taken his time, gotten over the immediate pain and emptiness, and come back to me. To Cas. To the bunker. That we'd start hunting again just like old times. 

But that was apparently an impossibility. 

Castiel rubbed my back, waited till I had regained immediate control. Without a word, I walked down the hall to Sam's room. I had lost not one, but two Winchesters after it was all said and done. Numb and defeated, I closed the door of the room and curled up on the unused bed. After all this time, it still smelled like him, but it waned every time I visited. The mustiness of the bunker was replacing the familiar scent, and I took it in while I could. 

Sam was dead. Dean was gone. An era of my life was just...over. 

Castiel walked into the room a few hours later, after giving me some much-needed space, and he scooped me away from Sam's bed. 

"Come on. You're going to be okay," he whispered. I knew one day I'd believe him.

He carried me in his arms and took me to my own room where he laid me down and covered me with blankets. He sat on the other side of the bed, his hand rubbing my back, as he waited for me to fall asleep. At least Castiel was still with me. My constant. My unwavering loyal friend. I didn't know what I would do if he decided to leave me too.

When sleep overcame my mind, I slipped into a dream that could now _only ever_ be a dream. 

Sam, Dean, Castiel, and I all sat around the library tables, laughing, joking, and teasing each other. Everything was perfect. And that's how I wanted to remember the brothers that had become more than just my close friends. They had been family, and I clung to that memory like it was the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be 8 parts. Maybe, like, 2! Lmao!  
> If you made it through, thank you so much for reading, and I'll appreciate any feedback you may have.  
> <3


	9. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years have passed since Dean decided to leave her and Cas and the bunker behind. She can't stop wondering what happened to him. Although she's sure nothing can track him down, what with all the warding he's placed on himself, Baby, and the supposed safehouse he took up refuge in, she still has to try.  
> With Castiel with her on the way, she does her best to find Dean. Because she won't get any closure unless she knows he's actually okay, safe, alive, and not in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided this one wasn't quite finished. 😉

I just couldn't sleep anymore, not knowing where in this great wide world he ended up. I couldn't rest, I couldn't eat because my stomach was so tight from worry. I tried not to think about, tried to tell myself that he was where he needed to be. He didn't need me anymore. He moved on, took everything he wanted to take with him, and didn't look back. I know he said it was for the best, but damn it, it never felt that way. 

Hunting became a distraction rather than something I did to help the world. The metallic scent of blood almost served as a depressant, and my mind would ease up. As gruesome as it sounds, sometimes all I needed was to cut off a vamp's head, see it roll on the floor, and the weight of anxiety would lift from my shoulders. I didn't think it was possible to turn cold, to turn into someone more interested in going through the motions of living rather than being in touch with my empathetic side. 

Did I blame Dean for the strange transformation into...whatever this was? Partially. I mean, he left. He never really looked back, and even if I _did_ need help on a hunt, I didn't ever leave a message when I called him. Because, deep down, I knew just seeing him for a moment would bring back those feelings when I watched him walk out. Abandonment. Betrayal. Desertion. Alone. Even treason. 

But, even with all that on my mind, even knowing what it would do just to see him, I had to know. Damn it, I had to know. 

So, I began to pack. I threw everything I could think of into a duffel bag, and if it didn't fit in there, my backpack still had plenty of room. Extra ammo, angel blade, silver, clothes, boots - everything. It was a road trip that had no limitations. I would search till I found him, even if that meant searching till my life ended at the hands of a monster or from old age. Someone had to know where Dean was. Someone had to have seen him at some point. Hunters don't just go completely off the map, do they? 

Well, maybe he would. Enough things had it out for the Winchesters that it would be the most logical thing for him to drop off the face of the planet. 

"Y/n?" Castiel stood just inside the doorway, his arms limp at his sides, head slightly inclined in curiosity. "What are you doing?"

I didn't stop packing. "I have to know." 

The sigh was one I'd heard many times since I first brought up the idea. "We talked about this. No one can sense him or find him. No locator spell has worked. Crowley has given up. Even Rowena has spent most of her supplies in trying to find him for us. I hate to say this, Y/n, but I don't think there's any chance." 

"We don't know till we try." 

"Y/n."

"Cas!" I stopped and stared up at him. My jaw was just as firm as his. My eyes just as sure and steady as his, if not more. "We've tried all the magical, celestial, and demonic methods we can think of. But we haven't used just straight manpower. Maybe if we work from the ground, searching like normal people would...maybe we'd have some luck." 

"You're desperate." 

"Damn right, I'm desperate!" I closed my eyes tight and clenched the shirt in my hand. "I just have to know. Cas. I know it's been years. And I know he told me not to look for him, and that we can't..." I shoved all the begging I could muster into my expression. "But he was one of my best friends. I just...I have to know." 

Castiel raised his eyes to the ceiling and took a breath, his shoulders lifting and his diaphragm expanding. "Fine. But I'm coming with you." 

"Okay." 

So I kept packing, and Cas just stood in the doorway until I zipped up the final bag and marched past him and up the stairs of the bunker to my car. I threw the car into drive and stomped on the accelerator before it fully shifted into gear. With the smell of burning rubber and the sound of an engine roar, the hunt for Dean was on. 

* * *

The bar was smoky and smelled like stale cigarettes. I choked on the thick fog as I walked past bar flies and booths, eyes fixed on the obvious newcomer. I didn't belong there, but it was the best starting place I had. I pulled up the most recent picture I had of Dean and shoved my way to the bar. I waved over the bartender and showed him my phone. 

"Have you seen this person? At all?"

The man studied the picture, his eyes squinted and his fingers rubbing a pattern on his jaw. "Uh," he said. "Maybe. We get a lot of traffic in here, darlin', and if he'd been here, I probably wouldn't remember." 

I just nodded. "Okay. Thanks anyway."

Castiel waited outside. I told him I'd yell if I needed any help. With his trenchcoat and stiff body language, he was even more out of place than I was. 

I ran a hand over the back of my neck as I tried to think of what to do next. I showed the picture to a few people who looked like regulars, but they all shook their heads and shrugged. Till one man realized what I was doing and waved me over. 

"Yes?" I asked, a little hope rising in my voice. 

"Lemme see that picture."

He was in his late 40's maybe with the beginnings of grey at his temples. Clean shaved and a lot less rough looking than anyone else in the bar. So, I showed him Dean's photo and held a praying breath. When he nodded, I grinned and almost felt like crying. 

"Yeah. I've seen him." 

"Really? How long ago? Was he okay?"

The man chuckled and took a sip of his beer. "Yeah, he seemed alright. Haunted by somethin', but alright. It would've been...oh...'round six months ago?" 

I must have looked confused. 

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked. 

"I...A little, yeah." I paused before continuing. "Has he been here since? Or did he say where he was going?"

The man scratched at his jaw, small red streaks forming where his nails dug in. "Uh. He was here maybe twice. Said he had business down south. That's about it." 

"That's it?"

The man nodded and took another sip from his beer. "Well I hope you find him. He must be important if you've asked practically everyone in here." 

"Thanks." 

"You have a good night, Miss." 

I nodded his direction. "You too." 

When I walked outside, I went right past Cas and to the car. He scurried to catch up with me, and I hardly waited for him to shut the car door before I drove away. 

"Did you find anything out?" he questioned, voice as steady as ever. 

I looked straight ahead, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel. "Yeah." Silence. 

"Well, what did you find out?" 

"He was here." 

"That's good, isn't it?"

"You would think."

I could sense Castiel's furrowed brow. I didn't have to look at him to see it. It was in his tone. "What is it?"

With a sigh and a shift of my hands on the wheel, I tried to purge the frustration. "He was here only six months ago."

I hit the highway and my foot pressed down on the gas till I zipped past cars and trucks and everything in between. At least he was alive six months ago, but he had been so close and he didn't even stop by to say hi. 

* * *

"Thanks." I hung up the phone and flopped back on the motel bed, scrubbing my eyes with my palms. 

Third hunter called in the area, and no one had seen Dean Winchester anywhere. No reports of a classic beauty of a car. No tall hunter with bow legs and death in his eyes. Nothing. Castiel and I stopped in Texas. It was the only place 'south' that I found anything that might be monster related or where Dean might have a reason to go. The only other state I could think of was Louisiana because of Benny. 

"No luck?" Cas asked as he walked into the motel room to see me flop my arms out like a melodramatic teen. 

"No dice." 

"Well, I brought you something to eat." I heard him set down a fast food bag, and I could practically taste the grease already. 

I flipped my phone up toward the headboard of the bed and got up, opening the bag and shoving whatever monstrosity was inside into my mouth. This was turning into a nightmare. For some reason, I thought it would be easy to track him down once we got out on the road and searched by foot. For some reason, I thought he'd leave a more noticeable trail, but I wasn't more wrong. He was still the hardest human to find. Right next to whatever they had in Area 51. 

"Maybe there will be better luck tomorrow," Castiel said as he sat across from me at the small table.

"Somehow I doubt it," I replied through a mouthful of food. 

"You never know. Maybe he'll happen to walk into the right place at the right time."

"Yeah, because the universe suddenly likes us." 

Cas didn't say anything else, and I just ate the rest of whatever he bought me. 

Dean Winchester. A hard man to find when he didn't want to be found. 

Then, my phone rang, and I dropped the stuff in my hands and practically pounced to get it. "Hello?" 

" _Uh. Yeah. Is this the person looking for Dean Winchester?_ " 

I didn't recognize the voice. "Who's asking?" 

" _I'll take that as a yes. We worked together a little while back. Last I knew he was in some small town looking for...a something I'd never heard of before._ "

I quickly got a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil they always have in motel rooms. "Where was he going?" I probably sounded panicked, hurried, but damn it, I was. 

" _A little town called Montague. It borders Oklahoma. You might look around there._ " 

I scribbled it down and stared at the name of the town, silence on the phone. "Thank you," I mumbled. 

I had a definite location. Somewhere he was definitely headed. Maybe we could actually catch up to him.

* * *

Montague held few answers. Yeah, Dean Winchester had definitely been there. Someone _thought_ they heard him say he was headed to Kentucky, but no one was sure. So, without any other lead, Cas and I drove to Kentucky, then to Tennessee. Before we knew it, we were in Oregon. How did he manage this kind of distance in such a short amount of time? Whatever he was looking for, maybe he'd found it and now he was just roaming. Whatever he was doing, now Cas and I were back to asking around bars, small diners, and gas stations asking if they'd seen him. 

Someone said they recognized the picture, but the man they'd seen had longer hair and a tattoo on his forearm. I just looked at him confused and felt that way the longer we drove. What the hell was Dean doing with a tattoo? I asked if they remembered what it was, but the guy just shook his head and shrugged. 

It was close to 4 p.m. and I'd driven for what felt like years. In reality, it had only been a few months since Cas an I left the bunker. Roadside motels were getting old, and part of me felt like giving up the search entirely. Dean was always two or three steps ahead of us, and we never caught up. We were always behind, and we weren't getting any closer. Besides, there was no telling how long it had been since Dean had actually been in these places. Mental strength was waning, and I felt drained for the first time since Dean left. 

With the car burning for gasoline, I stopped at a small station and had Cas go inside to pay. I told him to show the clerk the picture of Dean just in case. I watched the numbers roll as the car filled up. I was so desperate, but defeat began to settle in. Maybe I _should_ just give up, but I knew part of me wouldn't rest till I knew that Dean was okay. Sure, the small trail he'd left should be clue enough that he was still alive and in no danger of immediate death, but I wanted to see for myself. I wanted to know that Dean was actually alive. That it wasn't some Shifter. That it wasn't a demon wearing him as meat suit. I needed to know that one of the men I adopted as my family was doing alright in spite of everything. 

"Y/n!"

Castiel's sudden rushed voice broke me from my thoughts, and I turned to see the angel sprinting toward me, trenchcoat trailing behind him. 

"Cas? What is it? What's going on?" 

"Dean! The guy in there said that he lives around here! That he has a house down by the coast!" 

My eyes were so wide they could have popped out of my skull. "He _what_?!" 

"Come on!" Cas urged. He was filled with a sudden determination, so I stopped the flow of gasoline and twisted the gas cap back on. Although my foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor, it still wasn't fast enough. I still couldn't get to Dean as quickly as I wanted to. We were close, and it was the closest we had ever gotten to finding him. 

"Did the guy say where he lives?" I asked. 

"Yeah. Here. I already have it in the phone." 

Castiel lifted the phone up so I could see the directions, and I made a hard right turn and drifted around the corner. Luckily there didn't seem to be any cops around. 

I squealed to a stop about a mile away from what was supposedly his house and threw the car in park and turned it off. Castiel and I got out and trekked through the woods a little ways till we found the coastline. We walked toward the house that Dean was supposed to be in.

"Do you think he's there?" Cas asked as we got closer. 

I shook my head. "I have no idea. But, believe me, I'm hoping." 

When the house came into view, I stopped. It was large, cabin-like with a black tin roof and a back deck so big the library of the bunker could easily fit within the railings. I searched the side of the house for Baby, but didn't see it. Knowing Dean, that car was in the garage. If he was there at all. The water lapped at the sandy shore about 50 feet away from the back of the house. It was the only residence for a few miles, at least. Lights were on inside, and I saw people moving around. I just couldn't tell if any of them was Dean.

"Can you see him?" I asked Cas, hoping his angel eyes could pick up something I couldn't.

"Not from here." 

We were far enough away that I knew he couldn't see us if he did live there. 

Then, a back door opened and a dog ran out the door followed by a little boy no older than 3. A woman quickly followed them both, and I held my breath as I waited for the man to go outside. I suddenly wished I had binoculars. 

"I'll be right back," Castiel said. With a flurry of angel wings, he disappeared then reappeared and held out my binoculars for me to take. "You thought that one out loud." 

I chuckled and took the specs from him and looked through them, holding my breath. What I saw made me want to cry. 

The man finally walked outside, and he lifted his head as he turned from closing the door behind him. It was Dean. Yeah, his hair had grown out a little, but it was still Dean under there. He had a beer in hand, as I expected, and the biggest grin I'd ever seen on the man. He watched the little boy run around with the mutt of a dog and the woman chase the little boy. I lowered the binoculars for a moment and wiped away a few tears. 

"Is it him?" Castiel gently asked beside me. 

"Yes. It's him." 

I handed the binoculars to Cas and the angel sighed in what I could only describe as relief when he looked through them. 

I took my phone out. And called Dean's number. 

Cas handed the specs back and I watched Dean take out his phone, look at it, then put it back in his pocket when he saw my number pop up. I couldn't blame him. Not now. So, instead of calling again, I just left a message - something I hadn't done in a long time. 

When I hung up, I just watched for a few moments. Dean set down his beer and ran after the little boy, and my gosh the two looked alike. The boy had Dean's green eyes and his smile. Dean had a son? 

My heart swelled. Of everything I imagined I'd find when I caught up to him, I never imagined this. Suddenly, everything was alright. I could live knowing Dean was fine, in a house on the Oregon coast, with the most precious little family. Sam would be proud, and, if he were still here, he'd be the best damn uncle any kid could ask for. 

"Let's go," I eventually said, smiling ear to ear. "We can go now." 

Castiel quietly followed me and we began the long journey back to little ole Lebanon, Kansas. Everything was fine now. 

* * *

Dean grinned as he watched his son and his fiancee run around on the Oregon beach. His heart had never been so full. His life never made so much sense. When he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, he almost rolled his eyes at the interruption. The name that popped up stabbed at his heart. He never answered her calls. He just ignored them and went on as if she never tried to call. Sure, he said if she ever got into trouble that she could call and he'd come running, but when he met the woman who became the mother of his son, all his priorities changed. 

So, he sent it the call to voicemail and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Right now, he had other things that he needed to do. Like chase his kid around the beach and play fetch with that mutt that hopped into his car back in Tennessee and wouldn't leave. And stare at that perfect woman that kept him going. 

"Better watch out!" she yelled. "Daddy's gonna get you!" 

Dean chuckled and scooped up his son, throwing him in the air, and that perfect little squeal made him smile. 

When the sun began to set, she went back into the house to start up dinner, and Dean stayed outside with his kid for a few more minutes. He didn't know why he dug his phone out of his pocket, but what he saw confused him a little. 

Y/n left a voice message. 

So, he listened to it. Because she never left messages. 

" _Dean. Hi. Uh. It's me, but I guess caller I.D. already told you that. Uh...there's not really a non-creepy way to say this, but...I'm watching you right_ _now_."

Dean looked around, like he could find her, but she left that message a few hours ago. She was probably long gone. _"_

 _"I've been trying to find you for a few months. For my own peace of mind, because watching you walk away was the hardest thing I did after Sam died. It ripped me apart in a completely new way. I'm not calling to make you feel guilty. Or to ask you to come back. Truth be told, I've never seen you so damn happy, Dean. And I've never been so happy for you. That's a perfect little family you have, and that kid is beautiful. I know Sam would be proud of you. I know I am. I just wanted to say that I think I'll be alright now. Knowing you're happy and safe. You certainly didn't make it easy to find you, and I hope you've found peace, too. You deserve it. If you ever need anything, you know where I'll be. Castiel says hi. We love you, Dean. Take care._ " 

He stared at his phone a few moments before putting it back in his pocket. He cleared his throat to hold back the tears at hearing the smile in her voice. At just _hearing_ her voice. He hadn't heard it in so long, he almost forgot what it sounded like. For once he didn't hurt at thinking about her. With a grin, he called to his son. 

"Let's go, Sammy! It's time for dinner!" 

The boy giggled as he ran up to Dean and he picked him up. 

"Daddy," he said. "Can I have ice cream?"

Dean laughed as he whistled for the dog to come inside. "Maybe for dessert, kiddo. But only if you eat everything your mother puts on your plate. Deal?"

Little Sam nodded his head as Dean carried him inside and the dog ran in behind them. He locked the door and watched his fiancee move around the kitchen, stirring something on the stove every now and then. He set little Sam down and walked up behind her, pressing a kiss to her neck. 

"Mmm," she mumbled. "What was that for?" 

"I love you," he whispered in her ear. 

She turned and kissed his cheek. "I love you, too. Hungry?"

"Starving. Sammy!" he called, because the kid already ran to the living room to play. "Let's get washed up, alright?" 

And as he helped wash his son's hands, warmth spread throughout his chest. And damn it, Y/n was right. He'd never been so happy in his entire life. And he hoped and prayed that someday Y/n would find the sort of happiness he had finally found. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos if you found you liked it, or if you have a critique. I appreciate you! <3


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